The Paper Shepherd Read online

  “It’s worth a try,” he finally agreed.

  “Do you play guitar?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’ll teach you,” Tony offered.

  “I already play piano,” Max protested.

  “No good,” Tony announced authoritatively. “Only a woman could sound cathartic singing with a piano. Guys sound too, I don’t know, lounge singerish. Only guys like Sinatra can get away with something like that. And don’t think about going a cappella either. No one wants to hear one guy singing alone without any instruments.”

  “You’re sure about this guitar thing?” Max asked.

  “Oh, yes, positive,” Tony assured him. “And it’s like penance at the same time. It’s excruciatingly painful until you build up calluses. It’s like a socially acceptable form of self flagellation.” Max looked at Tony for a moment, confused. “It’s an ancient form of penance where you whip yourself to be forgiven for your sins.”

  “And this is like that?”

  “Sort of. Anyway, you have to learn at least one portable instrument for Pastoral Music in your first year in the program, and if you don’t already know some guitar, Father Peter will try to make you play tambourine or bongos or something dumb.”

  “How can he make me learn to play anything?” Max asked innocently.

  “Because he’s the musical education director for the seminary and you’re going to be a priest,” Tony revealed plainly. Max was awestruck, as though having an epiphany.

  “I’m going to be a priest,” he repeated quietly.

  “It sure seems so, my friend. It sure does seem so.”

  31

  Max sat in the hard wooden chair trying not to fidget. He felt the chair and his clothing conspiring to make this task impossible. The high back was only comfortable if he kept his own spine impeccably straight, each vertebra stacked with exacting precision on the one beneath it like the tower of babble reaching toward the heavens. And yet, his dress shirt encouraged him to collapse his torso into the most spherical shape possible in order to remain contained within the starched, white cotton.

  Max wore his suit so infrequently, he had not realized he had grown at least an inch since the last time. He felt like a gorilla trying to escape a circus that forced him to adopt human attire. And this tie, he thought. Who invented such things? He felt sudden sympathy for anyone with asthma, as his windpipe was smashed by the overly tightened polyester strip. Get used to it, he told himself, longing for his jeans and T-shirts, his neck free from its tethers. Get used to it. It was not just the clothing or the furniture that was making Max so uncomfortable. He couldn’t concentrate. He was antsy. He wanted to go out and run five miles to settle his nerves. He was in the most important interview of his life—the interview that would decide if he would follow his calling to serve God or remain perpetually a choir boy… the interview that would determine if the sacrifice he and Tiar had just made was for some higher cause or completely in vain. But at this critical time, all he could think about was Tiar. She hated him. And she should, he thought to himself. He’d acted disgracefully. He could accept the blame for that if only she would let him apologize. But she hated him too much to even pick up the phone and tell him she hated him. He’d never get to tell her how sorry he was. It tore him apart. Now, sitting in a dusty closed in office within the sanctuary of the seminary’s main building, he prayed for the clarity to push these thoughts away long enough to answer Father Raleigh’s questions.

  “So, Mr. Franklin, everything appears in order,” Father Jacob Raleigh said, staring over his reading glasses at the young man. He was roughly seventy and had the friendly face of a goofy television detective. Swimming in his black cassock, he leaned his heavily clad elbows on his desk as he held up Max’s application for further scrutiny.

  “I suppose there is just one last thing to ask you—what made you think you should enter the seminary?” Max found this question amorphous and infuriating. Tony had cautioned him he couldn’t merely say it was a feeling had always had. In the twelve hours between that coaching session and this, he had not come up with an alternative. He cleared his throat, stalling for time. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, no idea what would come out. Don’t think about her, he coached himself. You can beat yourself up later, but just don’t think about her now.

  “I grew up in a very religious household,” Max began. “I always accepted that’s how the whole world was. I went to a Catholic school. Everyone was the same. God was the unspoken foundation we all felt safe to build our lives on. I think it made us take religion for granted. It wasn’t until I started meeting people who didn’t have that, whose parents hadn’t taught them anything about God or religion at all that I realized how important religion really is and why I wanted to be a part of it. There are plenty of good people in the world without religion. But faith—and a way to express that faith in a community that you can rely on for support and guidance—I think that’s one of the best things a person can have. And, sharing that with other people—teaching that to other people—I think that makes the world a better place.” Max sat back in his chair relieved that he had gotten through his explanation without catastrophe. Father Raleigh nodded slightly to himself, then tipped his head to the side deep in thought.

  “Can you give me an example?” he asked innocently. Max thought hard. No matter how he struggled, his mind came back to the same face. You can’t mention her, he thought. Not after what you did. It’s depraved. But it was impossible for him to think of his faith and not see her as the epitome of it. It was impossible for him to think of God and not remember it in the context of her presence in his life. It was impossible for him to imagine even sitting in the church at St. Jude’s without her beside him.

  “Mr. Franklin?” Father Raleigh prompted. Just this once, Max thought to himself.

  “I had a friend who was orphaned when she was nine and grew up with and uncle who was antagonistic toward religion,” Max began. “My parents took it as their Christian duty to watch out for her. She went to church with us and everything. She was a very sweet person with a good heart. But she had no direction in life. It was very easy for other people to take advantage of that. Anyway, I encouraged her to get confirmed. She took it very seriously. She studied well more then she had to to get confirmed. And, at least now, when she goes off to college and doesn’t have my parents around any more, she has that faith and structure to fall back on.”

  “You converted her?” Father Raleigh said, obviously impressed.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Max said humbly. “She did all the work.”

  “But, you converted her.”

  “How could she not be attracted to such a divine institution?” Max pointed out.

  “But, you showed her the way,” the older priest pressed.

  “She would have found her way eventually.” The weathered old man smiled broadly at Max.

  “You’re far too modest, Maxwell,” he said warmly, using Max’s first name for the first time. Max hoped this was a good sign. The priest stood up, his final height being much shorter than Max would have anticipated considering how broad his shoulders looked in the cassock. He put out his hand for Max to shake. “May I be the first to congratulate you on your admittance into the program.” Max stood in the office bewildered. That’s it? The interview was less than half an hour long.

  “Is that it, sir?” he asked, trying not to appear impolite.

  “Maxwell, we had at least seven people come in unsolicited to tell us how qualified you are for this program, including two current students and the pastor of the Student Catholic Community. As long as you didn’t say you wanted to join the program to get free wine or to sabotage the Vatican from the inside, we were going to accept you.” The older man laughed, and Max reflexively smiled back.

  “Well, thank you sir. This is really like a dream come true for me,” Max said. He picked up the leather briefcase Eleanor had given him at graduation. It was empty except for a legal pad and a few pe
ns. Max had brought it mostly to have something in his hands.

  “We look forward to seeing you next fall,” the older man said. Max was turning to leave when Father Raleigh stopped him at the door.

  “What ever happened to the girl?” Max turned around, his heart racing. I walked right into that one.

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “What ever happened to the girl in your story?” Max swallowed hard, not wanting to lie, but knowing the truth was unacceptable. Be vague, he thought. If you’re vague, it’s not a lie.

  “When I went away to college, we… lost touch,” he said, thinking on his feet. “I think she was planning on being a veterinarian.”

  “That’s terrific,” Father Raleigh exclaimed. With that, Max turned and left.

  Max walked hurriedly to Tony’s dorm to tell him the good news. He was practically shaking with a mixture of giddiness and left over adrenaline. Max hopped up the stairs to Tony’s hall and saw him by the pay phone near the stair well. When he saw Max, he hung up the phone.

  “What’s up?”

  “Tiar, this is Tony.” Her answering machine was back on which Tony interpreted as a good sign. At least she wasn’t blocking all attempts to communicate any more. Tony spent most of the evening with Max, ostensibly helping him prepare for his interview. In reality, he needed to make sure his friend would not listen to his instinct to drive home. If Tiar was not going to talk to Max on the phone, he reasoned, going home in person would only make her angrier. He would also ruin any chance he had of getting into the seminary, at least this year, making all of the pain Tiar was going through utterly in vain.

  Still, Tony hoped that Tiar could forgive Max, if not for his sake, for hers. Their friendship was obviously important to her. Tony understood why she wouldn’t be ready to talk to Max yet, but hoped being a neutral third party, he could convince her to anyway.

  “Please, Tiar, if you’re there pick up. Look, Max doesn’t know I’m calling, but I want you to know how sorry he is for everything that happened. He’s devastated, Tiar. He doesn’t want to give up being friends with you. He would do anything to make this up to you. Tiar, it was all my fault. Blame me. I gave him some really horrible advice. It was all my fault. You can hate me, but please give him a chance. Call me, okay? I won’t even tell Max I talked to you. For God’s sake, Tiar, there is no point in you going through all of this alone. You know my number. Just call me, Tiar. Okay? We’ll all get through this somehow.”

  Tony heard foot steps on the stairs with Max’s particular skipping rhythm. He quickly hung up the phone.

  “What’s up?” Max asked, reaching the top of the stairs.

  “Just calling an old friend, but no one was home,” Tony answered vaguely. “How was your interview?”

  “I’m in,” Max said, smiling sincerely for the first time in over a week.

  “That fast?” Tony said, his eyes lighting up. Max nodded.

  “Want to be roommates?”

  “You know it,” Tony said, giving him a hug. “Want to go get some beers to celebrate, roomy?”

  “Yeah, just let me get out of this goofy suit.”

  32

  Tiar’s head was pounding. She stared out the window, looking at the bare branches that would soon begin to bud and flower. She had no interest in them aesthetically anymore, nor did she view them as a symbol of God’s promise of renewal any longer. They had value only as a distraction from the endless droning of Mrs. Linden’s American history class. Tiar’s flat green eyes wandered aimlessly around the room. The ringing bell shocked her out of her stupor.

  “Miss Alfred,” Mrs. Linden said politely over the clatter of students packing up their books. “Do you mind staying behind for a moment?” Great, Tiar thought, waste my whole lunch period. Her face showed nothing. In truth, she hadn’t been hungry for two weeks. She sat motionless, staring at Mrs. Linden as she approached. Mrs. Linden sat down at the desk in front of Tiar’s, turning awkwardly to face her.

  “Tiar,” she began when the other students had left. “All of your teachers had a meeting with the principle yesterday to discuss...your position.” Your position. The words echoed through her head, but her face did not portray her sense of dread.

  Your position. Tiar could imagine an angry roomful of parents, teachers, and Father Neman, banging a gavel on the table, long black robes and a puritan minister’s powdered wig pointing a long, boney finger at her saying burn her. It had been a vivid recurrent image in the past few weeks. The delirium she was suffering from her accidental drug overdose had left her with many disturbing, nonsensical images spinning around her head. Most of them revolved around Father Neman, Jack Franklin, Mr. Glending, or other authority figures in powdered wigs calling her a harlot, an adulterer, and witch.

  “Tiar.” But, here she was, just Mrs. Linden in a long, shapeless skirt and scratchy looking sweater, mispronouncing her name as though it were “T air,” a little known regional airline. “We’ve decided not to have you make up any of the assignment’s you missed in the two weeks you were in the hospital. You don’t have to take any tests for the next two weeks either. Mrs. Franklin brought a note by from your doctors explaining how all the medications you’re taking can affect your concentration. That can’t really be held against you. I mean, it’s not your fault you got hepatitis.” Hepatitis? Tiar sat absorbing all this new information. Eleanor had lied for her. There was no other possibility.

  “We’re just going to assign your grades for this semester based on the assignments you’ve already done and your performance for the last month of the school year.” Tiar looked at Mrs. Linden blankly, but in her heart felt a slight pang of guilt. Tiar had always found Mrs. Linden a woman too thoroughly rigid to make a convincing teacher. The only reason, Tiar felt, she was even passing this class was that Max used to teach her everything he was learning when he took it two years earlier. He’d taken her to the places where the history was made or museums that illustrated what ink and paper could not. He’d find some way to make their educational treks palatable to her even if he had to bribe her, like the time he took her for imported hot chocolate and fresh croissants at the gourmet grocery store in Buffalo on their way back from Fort Niagara. With Max, even history could be fun. Mrs. Linden listed facts as though teaching them was her reluctant duty. Yet Mrs. Linden was not a woman without compassion. Tiar could not help but feel that she didn’t deserve that compassion now, but she was grateful for it.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Tiar said, her voice still sounding weak and flat. “That’s very generous.” The teacher put her hand on Tiar’s shoulder.

  “And if you need any extra help catching up, after school or at lunch time, let me know.”

  “Thank you,” Tiar said politely. She exited the classroom, slowly, deliberately, as though she had a wound she was afraid could rip open with the smallest jolt. When she opened the classroom door, she found Sarah and Jen waiting for her. Although she was somewhat relieved to see them, her face did not change.

  “Hi guys,” she made out weakly. Sarah, speaking first, took Tiar’s books out of her hand while Jen grabbed her book bag.

  “Dana’s mom told us all about how sick and weak people can get with hep A.”

  “Bummer luck you have, Tiar,” Jen added. “We’ll never eat at Nunzio’s again.” Tiar felt the sense of guilt again, knowing that her illness had nothing to do with Nunzio’s. She didn’t want to hurt a perfectly good business. Regardless, these were her best friends now, in the whole world. Surely, she should tell them what had really kept her out of school for two weeks. But she couldn’t. Even if she had wanted to, she no longer had the physical or emotional energy left.

  “Well, some other diner probably sneezed on my food passing the waiter or something. I mean, nobody else at the restaurant got sick.” Tiar could see Jen thinking over her explanation.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  In the cafeteria, Tiar’s friends wouldn’t let her get her own tray, insisting that she rest as much a
s possible. Tiar would have protested, but she had no motivation to do anything for herself. After school, Jen insisted on driving Tiar home. Tiar wanted to talk to Mrs. Franklin, and her own apartment was out of the way. But she didn’t want to raise suspicion, so she accepted the ride from Jen. Fortunately, it was good weather. The mile and a half walk to the decent part of town gave Tiar a chance to think about things she would rather not remember. She walked slowly up the wooden stairs to the front porch and turned the doorknob slowly. She could hear the gentle rhythmic tapping sound of Eleanor working in the kitchen. She was sitting at the kitchen table with headphones on and typing on a lap top.

  Eleanor had taken a job as medical transcriptionist when Max was born so she could work at home. Tiar had always found it uniquely dignified how she continued to wear office clothes when she was working in her kitchen, to keep up proper mental discipline, Eleanor insisted. Tiar loved her old fashion wool suits. Today, she was wearing a green one she had had for ten years or so. It had a narrow collar and four top stitched pockets on the jacket. It was one of Tiar’s favorites. She sat down at the table motionless and waited. After about a minute, Eleanor looked up and saw her sitting there. She did not seem at all shocked to see her, as though she had anticipated the young woman’s presence. Eleanor saved the file she was working on and took off her head set, placing it on the table. They looked at each other for a while, neither knowing how to begin. Finally, Eleanor stood up and got a shoe box out of the living room and put it on the table in front of Tiar.

  “Here is your mail, dear,” she said softly. “I didn’t open any of it except your electric bill. I didn’t want you coming home to a cold, dark apartment.”

  “Thank you,” Tiar said sincerely, her tiny voice barely audible.